Sometimes I am at a loss for words. That’s when I make “other things” – things physical and hopefully, things that have a quality of beauty. Of course beauty is in the eye of the beholder so I can only be true to myself, my vision. I’ve given a lot of thought lately about why I can’t seem to settle down in one discipline. Do I make art or write? Do I study to become the best I can be as a painter, a sculptor, a poet …
I near my sixtieth birthday I realize I just want to make things. Small things of beauty. These things could be earrings, a sculpture, a poem, an encaustic collage and the list goes on.
And so I am artist and writer. I am sculptor and poet. If I remove those identifiers I become a creator, a maker. I am a maker of things. These things might change shape, form and medium but they all come from me, are of me.
My latest practice involves copper – one of my favorite metals.
I am making bracelets with words and word charms.
And when I’m not forming with metal, I am forming with words – a poetry chapbook is in development. Working title “on location”.
Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.